


Doctor's Orders

by ohdrey89



Series: Deductive Deviations [33]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Belts, Biting, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Choking, John Talks Dirty, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV John Watson, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Safewords, Shame kink, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Top John, no apologies here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 01:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11498511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdrey89/pseuds/ohdrey89
Summary: Dr. Watson has a cure for Sherlock Holmes's continued lack of regard for his own health and safety, and he will teach that impossible genius this lesson. It is not a remedy either one of them will soon forget. It changes everything...





	Doctor's Orders

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back again! I keep on writing these one shots. But don't worry there's more to come I promise. 
> 
> I also make no apologies for how utterly shameless and perverted this is as I have nothing to be ashamed of, so there. But if there are any parts of this that I forgot to tag, please let me know. 
> 
> Disclaimer: We didn't create it, we're not making money from it. But that's not going to stop the ideas from coming, so here we all are anyway. We might as well live.

———

A familiar black door on Baker Street slammed shut. The brass address reading 221b and the crooked knocker swung against the wood until it came to rest. It was a rather unseemly hour, but then the pair of feet making quick, quiet work of climbing the stairs often made such a climb when the rest of their neighbors were long asleep. The feet belonging to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson came into the sitting room of 221b, finally coming to rest after a long night. 

John huffed in both exasperation and relief to finally be home as he shut the door, closing them into the flat at last. It was another case just like any other, the details wouldn’t stand out for him, he’d write it down in his notes well enough but he doubts he would give it much consequence or put it into the blog. Except to acknowledge what it almost cost him, and Sherlock. Once again, Sherlock ran ahead of him, into the fray, into unknown chaos without a thought to his own safety. Only this time, the man they were chasing was a class of criminal to almost rival that of Moriarty. It was rare to see such a mind bent towards the devastation this serial murderer wrought upon people, how it had brought him such pleasure to do so, and then he turned that focus onto Sherlock and John. 

John growled deep in his chest as he gazed upon Sherlock now, barely bruised and scraped, but recalling the moments where he thought Sherlock and himself would meet some sort of wicked end while the anxiety clung to him with the last threads of adrenaline. He remembered himself, tied to a pipe, and Sherlock tied down to a table. He could laugh now as it had a very James Bond feel to the scenario, and Sherlock really did detest John’s love of those movies. Now he watched as Sherlock was tied down to be tortured before John’s eyes while he pleaded with the maniac not to do it. He had tried to keep the man talking long enough until help arrived, or until either of them found a way to get out of it. The man extemporized about his plan to Sherlock and John as he reached down to start the act of forever scarring Sherlock’s cheekbones. Just as Sherlock and John’s eyes met in terror, Lestrade and his team stormed the building. They disabled the maniac before the sharp blade could find purchase in Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock had texted ahead, just like always and left his phone in his pocket in the middle of a call to Lestrade. It was a trick he often employed if he thought the chase would lead to something… dangerous.

After scolding them and a promise to come to the Yard in the morning to give their statements, Greg let them go. John’s white face and pleas for the peace of home convinced the detective inspector to be lenient. John tried to get a cab, but Sherlock had other ideas as he motioned John to follow him. They broke out into a run, and took shortcuts to cut the commute home in half. The fresh air and exercise worked on John’s frazzled nerves until they finally reached Baker Street. Until all that was left was exhaustion.

Now, they stood within the darkened room. Blue moonlight streaming in from the tall windows that faced the street below, and they stood at a stalemate. John couldn’t move into the room now, couldn’t tread upon the peaceful scene as if nothing had passed during the night. He was tired, exhausted really, from tonight— from rescuing Sherlock from his foolishness or being the one to get caught in the middle of it again and again, and letting the arse get away with it just as much without punishment or repercussions. One day it could cost them both so much, more than any price he knew Sherlock would want to pay. But it seemed that nothing would stop him, not as long as there was a case to be solved. John’s features hardened as he knew Sherlock had no thought or care until he realized how gravely he errored and others would pay the price. But… John no longer wanted to remain to watch it happen. 

There was too much left unsaid, as Sherlock paced in front of the darkened hearth. He felt the edge of tension in the unlit room, just as John felt the tension of his unexpressed anger knot his shoulders. 

“….Well?” Sherlock questioned flippantly, one hand on his hip the other smoothing down the front of his suit with his elitist airs. John lifted his eyebrows in question, his tongue coming out to wet his lips, dry from running all night without reprieve. “You obviously have something you want to say.” 

John gestured to Sherlock and the room with an equal amount of indignation to combat his flippancy. “Does it matter? It’s not like you’d listen to me.” 

“Oh John, please! Save me the pious speeches about my safety.” Sherlock spat the words with derision and waved a hand dismissively turning away to seek his chair. He was completely bored with it all already, yet John hadn’t said a word. 

“I wasn’t going to, since it’s such a wasted effort.” John responded blithely as he sniffed in a rage. “But I won’t stick around to watch you do this to yourself either. It’s just another way to hurt yourself, like the cocaine.” John reached out to open the door again, to head up to his room to pack. “I’m your doctor, but as your friend I’m not going to watch you do this. I can’t, Sherlock. Not anymore.” 

“John please! Don’t—” Sherlock blinked fighting back the dread that welled up within him as he reached out for his friend. He couldn’t lose everything dear to him. Not now. It was just tonight that Sherlock realized how much he would lose, that’s why he picked a fight with John now. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Why shouldn’t I? You don’t care to listen to me anyway…” John sighed sadly, and pulled open the door and just as he opened it there was long, white, elegant hand slamming it shut on him again. He shushed Sherlock, hoping that door slam didn’t wake up Mrs. Hudson below them. It wouldn’t be the first time a late-night case stirred her from below stairs. But the doctor in John refused to wake the older woman from her much-needed sleep.

“You can’t leave!” Sherlock growled. He used John’s anger to catch the man off guard. He lowered his body until he was practically supported by John. 

John used the leverage of Sherlock’s lack of attention to his movements to allow the doctor the advantage of switching their positions so that instead of Sherlock cornering John against the door, John now had Sherlock cowered against it. He used the surprise of it to easily lift Sherlock up until their hips connected and John could easily get at Sherlock’s well… everything. He had wanted to merely surprise the detective so he could tackle the younger man to the ground but the air round them electrified into something entirely different. 

“Actually, I think I can.” John’s voice rasped as he felt a shudder run through Sherlock’s body. He saw it run through the younger man from head to toe. Sherlock flexed his body until he could roll his own obvious erection, already semi-hard and throbbing for more, with John’s own as it pulsed into action. They both moaned. 

Sherlock smiled triumphantly. “You need me.” His voice rumbled thunder into the space between. John closed his eyes against that voice as it made chills rush through his blood. He shook his head in denial. 

“No. Nope— Don’t think so. I may want you but I don’t need you Sherlock. I don’t need this, I don’t need to watch you use something good like your work as a way for you to try to kill yourself. Taking things too far the way you always do.” John stood still as a statue as he watched Sherlock work himself up into a needy whiney mess. The only thing to move upon John’s person was his pulsing cock 

“Fine! Fine. Please— John! I—” John watched Sherlock’s Adam’s apple bob in the long column of his throat as the man swallowed against a moan. His voice was high and breathy as his desperation was keen. “I need you.” Sherlock’s eyes sliced through the doctor, so needy and wanting, wet and vulnerable. The pupils of his eyes were blow out to dark pools and his usually blue eyes were reduced to a thin milky band of storm around them. Sherlock was aching for this, and he just didn’t know how to handle it. If John didn’t reign them both in, this would be over before either got any real satisfaction. 

John’s firm hands stilled Sherlock’s writhing and John swallowed Sherlock’s whines in vicious, dirty kisses that were more teeth than lips. It was glorious. Not even all the girls John had been with surrendered to his will quite like this. It was like Sherlock was drinking from John’s mouth like he crossed a desert to quench his thirst for John’s kisses. In a way, he had. They both had crossed their own desert to get to here. And John was going to take his fill, as he pulled away to see the effect it was having on Sherlock. 

Sherlock let out a high and needy cry, his hands scrambling desperately for purchase upon the wood of the smooth door behind him. John had not given him permission to touch, and the realization of Sherlock’s submission to his orders sent another shudder through his body. Sherlock’s mouth was swollen and ruddy from the way John had completely laid waste to his mouth, to steal of the kisses the consulting detective didn’t know he was willing to give. But John would have it all, he would take all that would be his fill of Sherlock tonight. All that was his due. 

John braced Sherlock’s wrists against the door frame above that impossible head of curls, with one hand. John may have been shorter and Sherlock may be wiry but it didn’t take much for the experienced army man to take advantage of Sherlock’s… predicament. He laid waste to his best friend, using his other hand to have way with the buttons and buckle keeping that pale, marble skin from John’s touch. It was so easy to dishevel that pristine suit and turn it to an equal mess as its wearer. John dropped the man’s trousers and pants, freeing his cock already angry red, and swollen. John bit his way down Sherlock’s straining neck to suck at his pulse, over the peaks and valleys of his collar bone to a sensitive, already painfully hard nipple. He gave Sherlock a harsh unforgiving bite to it, sucking the sting of his teeth away. He looked down the man’s torso to see the detective’s hips thrusting into the air as his cock dripped pre-come. Sherlock sputtered a cry as John had yet to touch Sherlock anywhere stimulating. “I’m a doctor, aren’t I?” John growled into his ear, turning Sherlock over so that he could part Sherlock’s arse cheeks and found the furled prize waiting just for him. He circled the man’s hole with a finger trying to get the tightened muscled to relax. “Aren’t I?! Answer me, slut.” John demanded, slapping the ass presented willingly before him. Sherlock wasn’t even trying to deny how much he had been begging for this to happen for months.

“Mmmmhn— Yes!” Sherlock cried, as John wasted no more time sinking two fingers into the man’s hole, he spat on his fingers as they worked in and out to ease the way. That was all Sherlock was going to get though. He wasn’t going to go easy on Sherlock. Not today. Not when he had been so fucking naughty. But he would take his time opening Sherlock’s hole. He spread his fingers apart and pulled them out of Sherlock’s hole and pushed them back in to jab hard against the detective’s prostate, listening with satisfaction as the man cried out, throwing his head back, and pushing back into the probing fingers. John was a patient man but he didn’t want to wait for forever. The younger man was stretched enough, he decided. 

“Then you will trust me.” John groaned into Sherlock’s ear as he pulled out his fingers, glorifying in watching Sherlock’s ass chase the fingers even though he’d much rather something else in his greedy little hole. John knew this very well and lined up his cock. The head of his prick pulsed against Sherlock’s hole as it quivered against John. “Won’t you? Sherlock!” John slapped Sherlock’s arse again, hating to be the one to wait for a response. 

“Y-yes!!! Please! Unh J-john!! Sir, please!!!” Sherlock cried out trying to pull his wrists out from John’s grip so that he could pull the doctor closer to his body. He needed this. He wanted this so badly. This was it. Finally, Sherlock would get exactly what he wanted from the man. Finally, John would let go. At Sherlock’s begging, John sunk into Sherlock’s hole with one hard and greedy thrust. Sherlock screamed out against the weight of John’s hips against his. But John didn’t really care if it was from agony or ecstasy. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want.” John sneered, and moved them both from against the door to the coffee table. He was swift and in completely command, the tight moans Sherlock gave were sweet as they moved so that Sherlock was found himself with his stomach pressed against the coffee table, both their hands spilled empty coffee mugs, papers, clippings, and photos onto the rug below. The noise of ceramic rolling across the room from pile to wood didn’t register with either man as they caught their breath and moaned. Every movement of John’s cock inside Sherlock’s body had the detective sobbing and quivering. John took advantage of his state to take selfish thrusts for his own pleasure, groaning into the milky shoulder within his reach. “And I’ll take what I want too. Don’t you worry. Daddy will take care of you.” John grinned and whipped his belt from around his pants that bunched at hips. 

His plump ass faced the darkness in the rest of the room. It flexed in a slow, devastating rhythm. Each thrust John took without giving Sherlock the pleasure of feeling his cock run along his prostate. John would let him have his fun, but first John would get his own. 

He then leashed the belt onto Sherlock’s neck and pulled until it threatened to tighten around Sherlock’s neck. The younger man reached out to John behind him, pale fingers grabbing meekly at a tan hip now that his hands were free. John pulled tighter still and removed the fingers from their purchase. Sherlock wouldn’t be getting any advantage here tonight. “Put your hand here. If you want to safe-word, slap the coffee table twice. Do you understand me? Do it, now.” John tightened the band of belt across the long white column of Sherlock’s throat and watched delightfully as the pale skin reddened along the edge of the dark-brown leather. 

Sherlock felt his airway’s being forcibly constricted and John gave a thrust against his prostate in the same moment. His gasp was choked off even as his chest was filled with air and his vision began to pinprick. His brain supplied the endorphins in contrast to the threat of his life, the reptilian brain fighting to get free with a last burst of energy even as the satisfaction from his pleasure told him to submit. The two feelings warred with him and the adrenaline sent his pleasure even higher. Sherlock’s cock throbbed in time with his pulse that could be felt down his extremities from where the belt cut off his air supply. He made to grab for something at first, his fingertips scrabbling desperately against the surface of the wood, and John pulled the belt tighter still until he slapped the table twice. 

“Good boy, there’s my good boy.” John praised releasing the tension of the belt. John’s praises were muffled against the thrumming rhythm of his circulation returning to his head but they still brought a blush to Sherlock’s cheeks. Oh, he would be so good for John, he would, he promised. John selfishly stirred his hips against Sherlock’s so that his cock rubbed against the man’s swollen prostate. The rush, the danger, Sherlock reveled in it even as he coughed and gagged with ragged desperate breaths, as oxygen rushed into his lungs, the irises of his eyes narrowed to pin pricks and the thrill of breathing came out of his chest in a long moan as his hips met John’s own, chasing the stars that throbbed against his sight. Sherlock was practically thrashing against John’s grinding thrusts, begging for more. This was exactly what Sherlock was needing and John was willing to give. When John stilled his hips with a crushing grip, Sherlock whined. “Easy.” John warned slapping his buttocks once, the sizzling pain chased up his spine, and Sherlock let out a high, whining plea. John reached around to feel his cock ooze with the pleasure that had him rock hard, his cock almost purple with the need to come. The pre-come was dripping onto the carpet, John reached down in front of them to find the carpet below Sherlock’s weeping cock soaked with a pool of it. He brought his hand back and held the cock in his hand as it beat to the detective’s heightened pulse. “Look at you, such a sensitive little boy. Shameful. All I did was choke you once and you’re ready to pop off.” Sherlock felt the shame rise to his cheeks, fanning the blush that was trying to recede further across those impossible cheekbones. His cock pulsed, letting lose another heavy drop of pre-come. He whined trying to chase the grip that gave his cock the friction it was craving. “Oi!” John objected slapping his partner’s cock once until the pain caused Sherlock to wilt sending him into whimpers. Once Sherlock had grown quiet, John ran his hand up Sherlock’s sweat soaked back, that damnable purple shirt clinging to his skin, utterly ruined, and made that much more devastating for it. “Now let’s continue, shall we? Now that your traitorous little prick in under control.” Sherlock whined in response, his blush growing from his cheeks and down to his neck. Right where John pulled on the belt again. 

“Joh-Ah!” Sherlock tried to cry but was cut off by the belt. Whatever pleas the man was going to make, John didn’t care as he tightened his hold on Sherlock. This time he tried to go for longer, thrusting and taking his pleasure in Sherlock even as the man scrambled to get away from the belt that was choking him. His hips however, they begged for more. John let go just before Sherlock began to pass out, once he gave into what was happening to him. As John let go of the belt, he sped up his thrusts, causing the detective to moan with each jab to his prostate, as John’s cock slid against it. Each attempt to take a deeper, rattling breath was cut off by the thrust of John’s cock. His pleasure was John’s to control now. It seemed only fair that John chose when he got to breathe. 

“You. Are. Mine!” John echoed with each thrust, stilling his movements before he came himself and ended it too soon. He could already feel the pleasure churning in his gut getting ready for release as his balls began to tighten. “Oh! Fuck! Yes, so good. Such a good boy, Sherlock.” John murmured against Sherlock’s curls. “So good.” John sighed, running a greedy hand along where the belt met Sherlock’s pulsating skin. “Let’s go to the bedroom, shall we? I’m going to absolutely ruin you.” John vowed lifting the taller, yet slighter, man up as if he were a feather. Sherlock moaned in question following the doctor’s lead even as he threw Sherlock against every fuckable surface between the sitting room and his own bedroom. John used that time to divest them of the rest of the clothes and now he shoved Sherlock head first into the duvet on his bed, equally as naked as John was now. Sherlock would remember later to applaud the man’s prowess as he never once pulled all the way out of Sherlock’s hole. He writhed against the duvet, skin glistening with sweat as he now could get the friction on his cock that he had been desiring. 

“Oi!” John chastised again, slapping Sherlock’s backside several times until the man’s hips stopped moving and a red splotch bloomed upon the white skin. “Rutting into the duvet trying to get off like an errant teenager. You should be ashamed of yourself, young man.” John scolded, tightening the belt once more. He let Sherlock have a good wail before he pulled harder, cutting off the man’s voice. “You know, it’s really sad that I can’t use this method to keep you quiet when you’re mouthing off to the Yard or Donovan, especially Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade. Could you imagine what they’d say about you when I’d do it? They’d see how hard it’d make you. Then they’d know what a dirty little boy you are, wouldn’t they, Sherlock?” John wondered aloud, letting go of the leather strap again as Sherlock coughed against the flooding relief of oxygen. 

“Yes! Yes, sir, yes! Do it, please, sir! I’d let you.” Sherlock looked back to meet John’s fiery gaze with his tearful one. He pushed his hips back against John’s and the other man let him fuck himself on that perfect cock. John enjoyed watching the shameless display Sherlock put on, as he ran a broad hand up Sherlock’s sweat slicked back, the muscles rippling delightfully against his touch. “Again, sir! Please, again.” Sherlock begged. 

“Look at you begging to be choked, you nasty, dirty, slutty boy. Fine. Once more, for good measure. And I’ll not let go this time until I finally cum in this pert little arse. Understand?” He watched the curly head before him nod frantically. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” Sherlock writhed against him, waiting for the belt to tightened, unhearing. “What do you do Sherlock?!” John demanded, slapping his arse in the same raw spot. “WHAT DO YOU DO?!” John growled biting the muscle of the man’s shoulder. 

“SLAP THE BED TWICE!!” Sherlock moaned, back arching into the force of John’s teeth, John took his time sucking a mark against his bite while Sherlock whimpered. John loved feeling the man’s cries against his lips as it echoed across his skin. He would love it so much more as Sherlock fell apart underneath him. 

“Good.” John praised and tightened the belt without warning. He took his time, allowing the thrusts to build up in speed, aiming for Sherlock’s prostate now with abandon. He could feel the pleasured nub inside the detective swell even more, his cock milking it as he chased his own orgasm. He watched drool fall from Sherlock’s plump lips and those violinist’s hands bunch up the duvet below them. Sherlock watched the light of the moon slowly blotted out as his vision turned black. With a final crescendo, with three hard punctuated thrusts, John’s vision whited out as his orgasm ripped through him. He came so hard his legs began to cramp. He had half a presence of mind to let go of the belt and pulled it from around Sherlock’s throat. It thunked onto the carpet below them, as he pulled the man against his chest. 

The rush of oxygen back into his system was so sweet as he felt John give his cock delicious friction with his perfect hands. Three long pulls were all it took as Sherlock writhed against the man’s touch, all at once it was too much and not enough, as he felt John’s cock still pulsing hot cum into his greedy hole that sucked on John’s cock in a rhythm to match his pulse begging for all the doctor had to give. Sherlock cried out as the touch didn’t stop. His cock spurted into long ribbons across the bed in sticky, wet ribbons. He could feel John smile against his skin even as the doctor shuddered against his orgasm. 

“Look at you, you dirty boy, making a mess everywhere. So good. So delicious.” John praised, as he nipped along the band created on Sherlock’s pale throat, and watched as yet another smaller orgasm ripped through Sherlock unexpectedly. Sherlock cried out at the surprised, humping against John’s cock even as it softened, riding the feeling as his cock pumped out more cum across the bed. John hummed happily in Sherlock’s ear. “Mmm, that’s it. Good boy. Let go, ride it out. Such a good boy.” John praised even as Sherlock shuddered against the doctor’s touch. With a final shudder, Sherlock collapsed in on himself across the bed in his own mess. John eased his touch until finally he let go and pulled himself from inside the man. Sherlock cried at the loss of contact until John pressed his warm hands into Sherlock’s now cold clammy skin. “Easy, shhh, easy, love, easy.” John cooed, trying to rub warmth back into Sherlock’s shivering skin. “You’re alright, everything’s alright now.” John assured, kissing along the areas he bruised. He collapsed against Sherlock, pressing his warm flesh against Sherlock’s cooling flesh. They couldn’t stay like this forever, John knew this as he lifted Sherlock’s limp form until he could wrestle Sherlock into the bed and under the covers. He tossed aside the ruined duvet, pulling the rest of the covers under Sherlock’s chin. He turned for the bathroom when a hand grabbed his own. He looked into Sherlock’s panicked eyes and saw the man trying to get out of the bed on shaking legs. 

“D-don’t leave! Please— John! Don’t l-leave me.” In his exceptionally vulnerable state, Sherlock was near tears thinking that John would, _could_ , leave him now like he had threatened to do. Still, after they finally came together like this, and John made him his own. John ran a reassured hand up Sherlock’s body and curled his hand affectionately through Sherlock’s mussed curls to cup the younger man’s face. The tender way Sherlock pushed into his touch squeezed at John’s ribs, making it hard for him to breathe. No one would understand but him, this was the real Sherlock Holmes.

“Sherlock. I’m not leaving you. I promise.” John covered the man’s lips with his own. He felt an unsure touch tighten around his forearm. The younger man was so unsure in his affections, that his touch would even be wanted. John would make sure that for the rest of his life, Sherlock would never get a chance to doubt that he was wanted or how to touch John ever gain. “I’m just going to get a wet flannel to clean up and go to the bathroom.” John promised with a warm, tired smile. Sherlock pushed himself into standing, ready to follow the man. “No. Sherlock you’re still shaking, stay there.” John assured with an affectionate smile. “I’ll be right back.” As quick as he could, John did his business and returned with a warm, wet flannel. He made quick work of cleaning Sherlock. Sherlock hissed against the rub of the flannel against his now over-sensitive bits. But John refused to budge in his task, when he went to scrub at the cum leaking from Sherlock’s hole, the man tried to still his efforts with a hard grip. “Sherlock.” John sighed, his need for cleansing Sherlock as much for his own good as it was for Sherlock’s. 

“No!” Sherlock argued, looking down and away with a blush. “Leave it. I- I like it.” Sherlock blushed harder for the confession. “I like feeling you inside me… still.” Sherlock looked up to John then, his silver, blue eyes pleading with John, his grip branding John’s wrist. 

“Dirty boy.” John teased with a nod. He threw the flannel aside. “Budge up.” The doctor motioned for the detective to make room. Sherlock did with a look of wonder as he watched the doctor get into the bed. John enclosed them in a warm blanket cocoon, encouraging the detective to curl his body into John’s a softer form of the same position they took while fucking. “Sleep.” John ordered with a yawn, tightening his arm around Sherlock’s body, bracing the man’s chest. Sherlock let out a pleased hum, glad for the strong tanned arm that was there to hold his scattering pieces together. 

“Yes… Captain.” Sherlock mumbled with a smile, even as sleep pulled at the lids of his eyes. 

“Watch it, next time I’ll put on my fatigues and put you through your paces until your cock comes at attention whenever I tell it to.” John warned firmly with a smirk, smacking a pale thigh before returning his grip around the man even tighter than before, muscles bulging underneath his skin. Sherlock thought it felt divine. 

“Promise?” Sherlock asked with a lazy purr through his smile. 

“Promise.” John yawned burying his nose into Sherlock’s curls and allowing Sherlock’s own easing breath to ease himself into blissful sleep.

———

**Author's Note:**

> No shame! And I love it. I hope you did too. It really was quite the delicious idea, if I do say so myself. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are our currency of love, spread the wealth around.


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